


the thesaurus of longing

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: Max’s track record when it comes to his teammates is terrible.





	the thesaurus of longing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rinandulric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinandulric/gifts).

Blind to his kismet, Max sinks into the warm tones of Alex’s voice, slow, dulcet, generous. His track record regarding teammates is terrible, but he wants this, and he’s never learned not to chase everything he desires. _Impulsivity_ precedes _self-restraint_ even in a dictionary, and Max thinks it makes a lot of sense. 

It’s hard to avoid staring at Alex’s mouth, its slight curve, the shiny trail his tongue leaves behind when he licks his lips. Max is only human, thus he’s prone to obsession—that’s the best word to describe it, the deep-rooted feeling he can’t get rid of, an infatuation that grows with every soft laugh and sideways glance Alex gives him.

Denying it is pointless: he’s almost in love with the one person who’s off-limits in a world that always bends to his desires.

* * *

Japan is the perfect place for everything to fall apart. It’s bright, lively, meant to leave a strong impression—so is Alex. Their banter comes easy despite the team crew accompanying them, and Max indulges Alex’s lighthearted quips, throwing back a remark or two about the sway of his hips or the way he snorts when he laughs too hard. He acts as if these things are meant to be made fun of, except Max loves them, loves Alex, loves the safety that comes with being around him. 

They get drunk on sake and hail a cab for the two of them instead of joining the traditional Red Bull carpool. The driver keeps his eyes on the road; Max keeps his hand on Alex’s knee, not touching, just hovering, yet it takes all the courage in the world. 

Small acts are frequently the hardest.

* * *

Near the end of the season, Max swallows the anxiety knotted in his throat and makes a move. He walks into Alex’s driver room nonchalantly, as if he’s there to ask about a steering wheel change or the odd radio interference during practice, not to pour his heart out.

Alex is hunched over the desk, reading through a pile of handwritten notes—Marko’s blather, maybe, Max is unsure. He scribbles some last words on the paper and turns to greet Max. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you so early. Is everything good?” 

“Yeah, Christian dismissed me really quick,” Max lies. In reality, Christian thinks he’s too jet-lagged to attend a meeting, but that’s irrelevant at best and only mildly deceitful at worst. “I… wanted to talk.”

“Sure,” Alex says, getting up and gesturing for Max to sit with him on the sofa, right under a row of custom maneki-neko and miniature Buddharūpa from enthusiastic fans. Max prays they give him luck. “Alright, what is it?”

“Actually, I—I was thinking about us after the last session.” Max scratches the bridge of his nose, his eyes focused on the ceiling instead of Alex. “Do you remember the podcast we did for YouTube?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“And you kept talking about how romantic it was,” Max says. The room almost feels colder. He regrets his words the moment they’re out of his mouth, and he can’t bear looking at his _teammate_, God, Alex is his fucking teammate, what is he doing?

Silence ensues. Max considers leaving before he can fuck this up any further, then Alex clears his throat and says, “I think you misinterpreted some things.”

Max forces himself to shut up and listen, the way his father relentlessly beat into him in the very beginning of his career, _stop being such an entitled, brash kid_. “No, I’m…”

“I guess you figured out I’m gay,” Alex interrupts. It’s not a punch in the face, but Max is just as staggered. “But that doesn’t mean you can assume I necessarily want to date you, because I really don’t, and I’m sorry I joked too much.”

He says many words, but Max’s brain repeats _I’m gay_ and _I really don’t_ over and over until angry, salty tears burn in the corners of his eyes—he’s not mad at Alex, he’s furious with himself for thinking this could ever work out. What a sad little delusion.

“Um,” Max chokes out, voice muffled by his hands. He has to think of an excuse, fast. Eventually, he goes with, “Sorry, Alex. I fucked up. Yeah, I… I didn’t know a lot of gay guys growing up, so I probably acted badly.”

Alex laughs, mirthless and plain wrong. “No worries, this is quite normal, I promise,” he says. “I’m not offended, don’t worry, I used to hear so much worse! Most of my male friends think the same at one point or another.”

_Yeah, so do mine, because I just lied to you, like I lied to mum. And Victoria. And my dad._ “Right,” says Max. His temples hurt and he’s teetering on the edge of a breakdown, so he gets up and heads for the door. “Sorry. Again. I should probably go. I don’t wanna make this weird.”

“Yeah,” Alex says flatly. He offers a smile, an unsubtle olive branch, and stays in his place as Max walks out.

Once he’s back in his hotel suite, Max crashes before usual. His father always says that early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise; he doesn’t think his father is any of those things, but he wants to see if sleeping at eight and waking up at seven does something for his pathetic, barren love life. Just in case. 

* * *

Alcohol is a tool of self-discovery, and for a brief moment he considers heading to a bar to have a couple of drinks, but there isn’t a type of rice wine that could ease the dull ache in Max’s chest whenever he thinks of Alex—which happens painfully often. 

He stays sober, he gets in the car a day later, and he congratulates Alex afterwards, despite the depressing race and his broken heart.

_Impulsivity_ comes before _self-restraint_, but _awful_ and _alone_ and _Alex_ beat both of them with room to spare.

**Author's Note:**

> “my father always said, ‘early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.’ it was lights out at 8 p.m. in our house and we were up at dawn to the smell of coffee, frying bacon and scrambled eggs. my father followed this general routine for a lifetime and died young, broke, and, I think, not too wise.” Charles Bukowski, _Throwing Away the Alarm Clock_. 
> 
> “Alcohol is a tool of self-discovery.” _Things I Know About Alcohol_ from _Everything Was Fine Until Whatever_, Chelsea Martin.
> 
> singlemalter, Tumblr.


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